


Let Sleeping Boys Lie

by nightscape



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternatively titled "Wake Me Up When The Grievers Come", Fluff, Humor, If you squint hard enough you might spot the fluff, In which Newt is actually terrifying, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 19:31:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4932508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightscape/pseuds/nightscape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking Newt up in the mornings could very well be the most deadly task ever faced by the Gladers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Sleeping Boys Lie

Newt is a lovely person. Really, he is.

He's a ball of sunshine most of the time, always smiling and laughing and ready to offer up a kind word. In the few months he's spent in the Glade, Minho has never seen a more cheerful person.

Newt in the early hours of the morning, however, is completely different. It reminds Minho of a story he once read- Jerky and Hide, perhaps? No, that can't be right.

 

Minho makes the discovery about a month into his new life in the Glade. As he walks out of the Homestead one morning, two things occur to him. Firstly, he never sees Newt in the early mornings, when the rest of the group is up and about. Secondly, the Gladers have built a separate bedroom in the Homestead just for the blonde boy. It's... strange. 

He decides to ask over breakfast. Exactly six Gladers have gathered to eat at the wooden table- as usual, one boy is missing.

"Guys," he pipes up. "Where's Newt?"

At the mention of Newt's name, all conversation at the table ceases instantly. Somewhere to Minho's right, a fork drops. 

Nick is the one to break the silence. "Asleep," he says, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Minho. He lets out a nervous cough. 

"Yeah, but why-" 

"We do not speak of it," Alby cuts in quickly.

"...Of what?" 

Gally leans over the table, and the look on his face makes Minho shrink back in his chair. "Minho, have you _ever_ tried to wake that boy up in the morning?" 

Minho chews on his bottom lip. To be honest, this is all starting to freak him out a little. "No."

"Well, we all have. And it was like resurrecting the devil, if one even exists. It's a shucking miracle we made it out alive." The rest of the Gladers nod fervently in agreement.

"Let's just say that Newt in the mornings is the reason why we keep our weapons under lock and key," Alby adds with a shudder. 

Minho is convinced that his friends are just exaggerating. After all, Gally's always been a bit of a drama queen. "C'mon guys," he laughs, spearing a tomato with his fork, "it can't be _that_ bad."

When he gets no response, he looks up from his plate to see that the Gladers are frozen with fear, eyes fixed on something in the distance. He follows their gaze, only to see Newt coming out of the Homestead. 

"What the shuck? He's not usually up this early..."

"The world ends tomorrow."

"Ya reckon he's going to try to break somebody's neck again?"

"Shut up, he's coming this way. Everybody stay calm and act normal." 

Under Nick's instructions, everyone seems to take an extremely keen interest in the food on their plates. Minho cocks his head to one side and continues to stare at Newt, bewildered. 

And then he sees it. 

As Newt shuffles into the tiny mess hall, he lifts his head ever so slightly and the sight makes everybody, including Minho, recoil in terror. The expression on his face is so dark that Minho actually glances up at the sky to check for storm clouds gathering overhead. It's so unlike the bright and cheerful boy he knows. 

"What's his problem?" Minho hisses to Alby out of the corner of his mouth.

"He's just not a morning person," Alby whispers back. 

"Thanks, that explains a lot."

In the meantime, Newt completely ignores the other boys as he eats in silence, bent over his plate so that his bangs obscure his face yet again. Minho swears the surrounding air feels colder than usual. The rest of the Gladers cower in a corner, eyeing the blonde boy like he's a rabid animal which might attack at any second.

Deciding that a morning greeting might serve to lighten the mood, Minho straightens up and clears his throat. "Good morning!" He makes sure to flash Newt his brightest grin. "What a beautiful day--"

The words die in his throat with a pathetic whimper as Newt slowly raises his head to look him straight in the eye. The boy looks positively murderous. " _Is_ it?" he says, every syllable dripping with hair-raising menace. "Is it really?"

Right then and there, Minho vows never to approach Newt in the mornings.

 

 

Months later, the same issue finds all of the Gladers gathered in the Council Hall before sunrise. All except one, of course.

"So you're saying," Minho groans, "that you called for a meeting at the buttcrack of dawn, just to tell us that we should give our friend a morning call?" 

"Well, yes," Nick says, having the decency to at least look guilty. "Newt contributes just as much as the rest of us, but we can't have him waking up at least an hour later than everyone else. He isn't setting the best example for our Greenies, you know. We're going to have to do something about it. Starting today." 

"Even if it means risking our lives?" Frypan squeaks.

Nick grits his teeth and nods solemnly. "Even if it means risking our lives."

"Here goes nothing," Minho sighs, putting his head in his hands. It's too shucking early for this.

  

Operation Wake-up Call begins immediately. Nick and Alby volunteer to go first, and the Gladers gather around the doorway to Newt's bedroom as their leaders bravely march in.

Once the two boys have disappeared behind the grass curtain, Minho turns to face his friends. "What actually happens when somebody tries to wake him up?"

Ben casts a nervous glance in the direction of the bedroom. "Forget the thing about nobody surviving a night in the Maze. Nobody survives _a morning in Newt's room_." 

"Just watch," Gally adds. "I give it five more seconds, tops. Five... four... three... two..."

Before he can say "one", a bloodcurdling shriek comes from inside the room- the girliest scream Minho's ever heard, no doubt. It cuts off with a choked gurgle, and the sound of scuffling ensues.

Everybody takes a step back from the doorway in unison as Nick and Alby tumble out of the room, nearly tripping over their own feet in haste. "I tapped him on the shoulder," Alby chokes out, clawing at his throat as if trying to release some invisible noose, "and he _grabbed_ my shucking _neck_."

"That boy has a pair of powerful hands, I'll give him that. He didn't let go till I promised not to wake him up again," Nick pants as he bends over to catch his breath. "And then he fell back asleep, just like that. Frypan, what the shuck have you been feeding this kid?" 

Frypan looks absolutely scandalized. "Same stuff you've been eating for the past half-year, boss. Y'all ain't getting no food if you're gonna pin the blame on the cook."

"I can bloody hear you out there," Newt growls from inside the room. Within seconds, every last Glader has fled from the Homestead.

 

Operation Wake-up Call resumes the very next morning. By order of seniority, it is decided that their resident Builder will be the second one to go.

Armed with a handmade wooden shield, Gally enters the room in another brave attempt to rouse the sleeping demon. Or, as Minho would describe it, a _gallant_ attempt.

"Stop with the puns," Alby sighs.

"Sorry."

Gally lasts an impressive six and a half seconds before the sound of splintering wood is heard. He ducks out of the room moments later, holding one half of the now-broken shield in each hand and looking rather traumatized.

"He destroyed this with his bare hands," Gally says, holding out the pieces of the shield for the Gladers to see. "And the best part? He didn't even open his eyes. I don't know about you guys, but I'm done."

 

Frypan is sent in the next morning. He takes a slightly different approach this time, banging on his pots and pans and yelling things like "THE HOMESTEAD IS ON FIRE" and "IT'S THE GRIEVERS, THEY'RE COMING FOR US".

Strangely enough, he emerges from Newt's room unscathed. "It didn't work, man," he sighs, shoulders sagging in defeat. "He just tossed and turned and... hold up, I remember him saying something." 

"What did he say?" Nick presses. 

Frypan turns to Minho with the strangest expression on his face. "He was repeating your name in his sleep, Minho."

 

Unsurprisingly, Minho is the next boy to be sacrificed to Newt's sleeping quarters at sunrise.

The Gladers exchange knowing smiles and wolf-whistle as they nudge him through the grass curtain. "Slintheads," he mutters under his breath, bracing himself for the worst.

For a place where acts of unspeakable violence have been committed, Newt's bedroom is actually cozy- it's a tiny, four-walled space with a window to let the sunlight in, and Minho has to take only two steps forward before he finds himself standing over the blonde boy's hammock. 

And _shuck_ him, why does Newt have to be so darn attractive up close?

Minho figures that this is what an ethereal being must look like. The morning rays that stream through the window lend a soft glow to the boy’s delicate features- from his long lashes to his plush lips, everything seems to have been carefully crafted by the hands of a skilled artist. Here, curled up under a blanket and snoring softly, Newt doesn’t look one bit deadly. Instead, he looks impossibly serene, and impossibly beautiful.

Without thinking, the Runner leans down to press gentle lips to Newt's forehead.

It takes a while for him to realize that he just _kissed_ Newt, and when he finally does, a part of him wants to shrivel up and die. "Oh god," he says aloud, pushing away from the hammock. "Minho, you crazy son of a-"

He nearly dies on the spot from a heart attack when he looks up to see Newt staring at him with wide eyes.

"Please don't kill me," he whispers, pressing himself up against the furthest wall. 

Newt, it seems, is even more shocked than he is. The blonde boy slowly pushes himself up into a sitting position, a deep flush spreading across his face. "Minho? Did you just--"

"Um," Minho says. His face- shuck that, his entire _body_ is on fire. "I just wanted to wake you up. I think."

For a moment, Newt runs slender fingers through his hair, seemingly at a loss for words. Then he lets out a chuckle. "You know," he says, a shy smile playing across his lips, "I really wouldn't mind if you did it again."

 

When Minho finally exits the room with Newt in tow, the other boys erupt into cheers. (They still give the pair a wide berth as they head for the mess hall, though.) Newt is still half-asleep and a little grumpy, with his golden-brown hair sticking up in all directions, but he looks like a disgruntled kitten and it's really kind of adorable. While everybody else is tucking into their food, he catches Minho's eye from across the room and grins. 

Newt never sleeps in again.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This, my friends, is why I should not be allowed to consume any form of caffeine after midnight. (And as promised, here's something a little more lighthearted to make up for the terrible sins I committed in my previous story.)


End file.
